Melted Ice
by deathfire1334
Summary: Harry and Draco both have their differences, but their problematic lives will bring out the good side in each of them. Follows HBP and contains slash. Rating may change.


Hello. I'm rewriting this story because I hated the first version I did of it. I assure you it's better (or at least, that's how it should seem) and that it'll be longer, more frequently updated, and have an actual plot. Well, sort of. I'm still not sure of it myself; I have some ideas and I'm just writing as I go. But in the meanwhile, I will continue to write (this first part will just be a lot of talk), and the moment I get a single review I shall update. So, review. Please.

WARNING: Slash. If you do not like slash and/or are offended by it, then _please_. Do not read this story and then flame me about it. That's just annoying. Also, I'm writing Harry as incredibly emo, even sorta gothic. If you do not like Emo/Gothic Harry, then don't read this. It'll be depressing.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter; never have and never will.

Melted Ice

Harry looked outside the window from his seat in the train compartment. He watched the passing scenery with mild interest, just waiting to get off this train and back on Hogwarts grounds again. He dared a glance at the two love-birds, not surprised that their arms were so intertwined that you couldn't tell whose limbs were whose. He sighed and continued to stare out the window, once again feeling even more dismal than he had this summer by watching the rain down-pour against the window pane.

The first week of summer had seemed surreal. He really hadn't minded when none of the Dursleys spoke to him once he arrived at their home again. Vernon would occasionally grunt some insulting comment about Harry's clothes and whatnot, and Petunia would only shove the proper household tools at him for Harry to get some job done around the house. Dudley was too scared of Harry to speak, push, or even point a finger at him. No, Harry was quite content with all this. He didn't even mind doing all the extra chores that his aunt piled upon him simply because they occupied his mind.

The thing that seemed truly different and abnormal about this summer was that in the back of his mind, Harry knew that Sirius would never come back. To him, he honestly didn't think the situation had really sunk in. He thought that now that it was summer, things would just go back to normal. In a week or two, he would be heading back to #12 Grimmauld Place, see Sirius' and Remus' shining faces, accompanied by Hermione, Ron, the Weasley gang, and all of the Order. He even woke up the first few days expecting to see a letter from Sirius brought by some exotic bird.

But nothing of the sort happened. He received no letter from Sirius, though was showered by them from his two best friends, and the wait to get out of the Dursleys home seemed too long and excruciating to bear.

He lay on his bed for most of the day, reading the _Daily Prophet _and their bizarre new adaptations of the story of what happened at the Ministry. Word had somehow gotten out about the prophecy, though the details were still fortunately askew. People were now referring to Harry as "The Chosen One" and kept saying that he would bring about the demise of Voldemort. At first seeing this, Harry was almost enraged. They knew nothing of the prophecy and his destiny, so how could they even have the guts to print it? Then he remembered that everyone behind the _Prophet_ was fools and his anger subsided.

He depended on his letters from Ron and Hermione to cheer him up, but their writings were becoming strange. Hermione was already at the Burrow and told Harry over and over that they would be making arrangements for Harry to come as soon as possible. However, he seemed to get a bit lost. She would write one thing, and then write something completely different and off topic in the same paragraph. Most unlike her. Ron seemed to do the same as well, but his letters were considerably shorter. They sent fewer and fewer letters as the days went by, and after what seemed like four confusing and irritable weeks, Dumbledore had finally come to fetch Harry to take him to the Burrow.

Harry wasn't so surprised to see his two pals snogging in Ron's room when he arrived, but he had only wished they had been at the front door to greet him. However, Harry was soon to discover that this would be the norm until the starting school year: Ron and Hermione would snog, Ron and Hermione would snog, and Ron and Hermione would snog. Harry felt thoroughly depressed about this during the rest of his summer, as they talked to him less. He still didn't mind, though. His amount of time spent with them at the Burrow was just the right amount, since he would have preferred to stay alone anyway. He wasn't very social now and hardly communicated with the rest of the family as much. Only Fred and George, who couldn't hang around too much due to their business at their shop, could get a laugh or smile out of Harry. They had still remained their same old, funny selves.

The rest of the summer had been clearly uneventful; they didn't even see Malfoy in Diagon Alley or any fights there or anything. So, you can imagine Harry's relief when September 1st came around. He was more than happy to board the Hogwarts Express, even though Hermione and Ron had to attend to their prefect duties. Harry didn't even try to find a compartment with anyone he knew, and no one bothered him when he sat alone in one, mainly because he had shut the blinds.

He didn't know what possessed him, but as he sat alone in the compartment, he took out some parchment and a quill and started writing poetry, of all things. He really didn't know what he was doing, he just wrote down the thoughts that entered his head, but by the time he stopped to think about what exactly he was doing, he had already filled two short pages. He reread it all several times and thought to himself, _Heh, I'm pretty good_. Then, after reading it for about the fifth time, he realized that he had been writing about Sirius. At least, every line that he had written reminded Harry of him. He smiled to himself, thinking that no matter where Sirius was, Harry would always keep him alive with his thoughts and memories of him.

Then, Harry frowned. Something was wrong. He kept rereading the words that he had written down but something just didn't seem right about them. He only wrote down what he was thinking, what he was feeling… But the way he talked about Sirius seemed to disturb him. You don't write about your godfather that way, even if you do miss him…

Harry was interrupted when Ron and Hermione came in. He quickly shoved the parchment in his pocket before either of the two could've seen it. Of course, they joined him, and talked only for a little bit before they started mashing their faces into each others.

Thus we come back to a very bored Harry, who now stood up and walked over to the sliding compartment door. Ron and Hermione had remarkably fallen asleep in each others arms, for Harry had never seen anyone fall asleep while on the Hogwarts Express, and thought it rude to awaken them, so he quietly slipped out of the small room and headed for the caboose of the train.

His spirits were particularly down and in confusion, as having that very weird moment with himself alone in the compartment, and was not put in a better mood when people, as he passed by, literally stopped all that they were doing to look over and stare at him. Some very giggly fourth and third-year girls even came out into the train corridor to stare and giggle at him. Harry merely quickened his pace. He speeded down the hall till he finally got to the end of the train, opened the door to the outside, and slammed it shut. To his utmost annoyance, people still crowded around the window that looked out the back of the train to get a good look at Harry. He only took this for long before he abruptly stood up, thrust the door open, glared for a second at everyone crowded in the small corridor, then whispered deadly, "Can't I even have a moments peace from you people? Leave me alone!" and slammed the door, frightening one girl so bad, she ran into one of the sliding doors. The crowd immediately dispersed, and no one bothered Harry for the rest of his time out there on the back of the train.

The rain was still pouring and Harry was soon soaked from head to foot, but he seemed to find peace in all this, in feeling the drops of rain hit his face and body, in feeling the wind tousle his hair around his eyes and hearing it howl in his ears. He closed his eyes and began to relax, feeling strangely secure. He didn't know how long he had stayed out side, just sitting there on the floor, his back leaned against the door. He thought he should get up when he felt the rain starting to lighten its load to where it was only a drizzle by the time Harry got up and opened the door of the caboose to go back inside. Luckily, someone had shut the blinds to the window on the door. Hopefully, no one had seen him.

Low and behold, perhaps the one person Harry could have done without seeing, and the only person who could probably make Harry feel even more miserable, was standing right there in front of him, Malfoy. He was stumbling a bit as if he had been knocked over by the door when Harry had opened it.

For a moment, while both boys just stood there collecting themselves, they simply stared at each other in what appeared to be amazement in both pairs of eyes. This moment shortly passed, however, and they both gave each other nasty looks and reached for their wands at the same time. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle was with Malfoy.

He looked Harry over for a second, sneered, then said, "Potter. Alone, I see. No need to ask what the weather's like…" Harry, who had taken his glasses off outside, could still see the smirk that appeared on Malfoy's face. Unless he had thought that someone had locked Harry outside, Harry couldn't see why this was so amusing to him. "And that Mudblood and the Weasel have finally ditched you! You know, that's the most sensible thing they've done all these years since-"

Harry had hit Malfoy right in the jaw with his fist. Malfoy staggered about a bit before being shoved by Harry into the wall. He slid down it and sat in a pitiful heap on the floor whimpering.

Harry looked at him; not an ounce of pity was in him as he stared at the boy. He silently turned around, for lack of knowing what to say, and started walking back to his train compartment when Malfoy, persistent to act a fool and seem snotty, sputtered out, "T- Touched a soft spot, have we?"

Harry stopped for a second, realizing that the reason why he had hit Malfoy was because he _had_ hit a soft spot. He was very defensive about his friends, now that they really were ignoring him, practically.

He looked at Malfoy with the saddest expression on his face, before turning around and continuing his way to the room where Ron and Hermione were.

Malfoy had been branding a rather bloody smirk when he saw the look on Harry's face, and he was disturbed by it. That face was so sad… And he almost felt something stir inside of him, but that couldn't be it. Could he feel pity for Potter? He wasn't sure at the moment; all he could do was watch as Harry disappeared down the corridor.


End file.
